


Nothing More

by Writings_of_a_Hufflepuff



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: F/M, Female Identifying reader, Pining, billowing shirts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:20:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23517574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writings_of_a_Hufflepuff/pseuds/Writings_of_a_Hufflepuff
Summary: Character: JaskierPrompt: 56. Those period shirts with the puffy sleeves and the deep v and one staring at the other like… oh no he/she’s hot.Note: Lil’ Angsty + A lot of internal monologue + Female Identifying Reader
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion & Reader, Jaskier | Dandelion/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 37





	Nothing More

You would like to state for the record that it really wasn’t your fault, not at all, not one bit. Could you truly be blamed for failing to distract that Lord Whaever-his-name-was because you yourself had been distracted by a fae, a beautiful creature of the mythical realms? 

Okay, so in truth Jaskier wasn’t a fae and he certainly wasn’t some mythical creature...or at least not to your knowledge. But he was beautiful and could anyone blame you for becoming distracted when you saw him with his doublet open, white billowing shirt underneath cut with a deep V, broad shoulders, and defined collar bones in plain view? No, you think, those shirts were made to be a distraction and he, given the way he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and threw you a wink before starting to sing, knew it. 

“Could you focus for one minute?” Geralt grunts at you and you pull your eyes away from the bard of your affections to stare up at the annoyed face of a Witcher who just wants this job done. 

“Sorry! I’m...maybe if you stopped bringing Jaskier along, I would be able to focus? How am I supposed to flirt with some creepy old man, when _that_ specimen is dressed like _that?_ ”

All you receive is a raised eyebrow and pursed lips, “Alright! Alright! But, really? Can you blame me?” You gesture with an outstretched arm towards Jaskier. Whenever he sang his eyes seemed to twinkle a most ridiculous blue and he did this little smirk at every turn. It always felt like his eyes fell on you and yours certainly kept being drawn back to him even as you approached your mark with a sweet smile and a tittering giggle.

You weren’t that fond of distracting men or women or anyone really, especially because you felt like you were a rather awkward flirt and certainly not as proficient as some. 

You supposed that Jaskier leading you to distraction was actually rather helpful this time around. Your mark seemed convinced that your lightheaded-ness and soft eyes were for him and not for the man you kept seeking out over his shoulder. 

He just had something about him. Whether his silver tongue or the blue of his eyes, even the dark hair on his chest and curve of his forearm was attractive, something you would never have thought of before him. Somehow, Jaskier had sung his way into your heart and you doubted he even fully understood. You suspected he took your flirtatious comments as friendly banter, as jokes between friends and not for what they really were. The words of a woman desperate for his attention and affection. 

You giggled at the Lord’s jokes and nodded at the stories but you weren’t really listening to a word he said. Your focus flitted between Jaskier performing another raunchy ballad to a gathering crowd of admirers and Geralt, waiting for a sign that he was done and that by extension you could extricate yourself from this old, musty Lord’s side.

Suffice to say the moment you received a sharp nod from the Witcher, you excused yourself claiming your husband would be looking for you and that you enjoyed your time dancing with him. It was rather frustrating to see that the mention of a husband did little to curb his interest and you sought out your companions the moment his arm left your waist. 

Smoothing down the skirts of your dress, your eyes catch on Jaskier in his attempts to extract himself from the crowd he’d gathered and you gravitate towards him without thinking. Seeking out the blue of his eyes and the billowing fabric of his tunic. 

“Ah! There she is! My muse! What sweet beauty doth grace my presence once more!” It’s all a bit of a show, a way to remove himself from the unwanted advances of others without hurting their feelings. A subtle way of suggesting that his interests lay elsewhere. You oft wished that it wasn’t some big performance, that every time he called you his muse, his delight, the sweetest creature to bless his presence, that he meant it. That he truly felt that way. That you inspired him and inspired great feeling within him. Yet, still the wide smile and twinkling eyes caused a giggle to rise from your throat and a smile to twist at your mouth. Even when it was a performance, a show, you couldn’t help but revel in his attention.

As you left together in search of Geralt, arm in arm, you once more resigned yourself to the truth. That Jaskier was your friend and that you would never be for him what he was for you. Because he truly was a muse to you, some sort of ethereal being who inspired you to wax poetic, to capture his likeness in pencil on sheets of parchment. If you could sculpt, you would make statutes of him. If you could sing, you would sing ballads about his eyes and the breadth of his shoulders. 

You resigned yourself to the fact that you would always be just Y/N to him.


End file.
